


Tea and Revelations

by veronamay



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Bertie POV, Canon Related, M/M, Tea, wrongfully imprisoned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-01
Updated: 2006-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie's in prison again, and this time there's no Jeeves to rescue him.  Set just after the conclusion of "Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks and purses of gold are flung at [](http://innocentsmith.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://innocentsmith.livejournal.com/)**innocentsmith** for yet another sterling bit of beta-reading.

On any standard-issue morning, it is my practice after what-ho-ing the lark to immediately get outside a cup of tea, the pinnacle of all morning beverages. Mere seconds after I have prised open the eyelids, Jeeves shimmers into my room and shoves a cupful of the stuff onto the table next to my bed, whereupon I imbibe it in peace and solitude before gathering the energy to tackle the eggs and b. The whole procedure is essential to maintaining my customary verve. Without it Bertram is a soulless figure, a man fit only for treasons, stratagems and spoils.

Picture, therefore, the gnashing of tooth and rolling of eye that occurred when I found myself bereft and a-thirst on the very morning I most needed a nerve-soothing tisane.

There's a poem that Jeeves likes, about a chap in prison who looks upon the garish day with a wistful eye. I felt rather a kinship with him. His situation seemed to mirror my own at present, except for the bit about swords and knives and doing away with my loved ones. If I ever meet this poet drowning his sorrows in a pub somewhere, I'll front him a pint of the finest and sing a sea shanty of commiseration, for we were brothers in spirit. I was at present languishing in durance vile, as Jeeves would put it, otherwise known as being nicked. The Last of the Woosters was deeper in the mulligatawny than ever before and his future was looking pretty grim.

I'm not up to visits from friends until I've sucked down the morning brew, let alone facing off with a beak who wants to throw the book at me with one hand and chuck away the key with the other. There I was, friendless and helpless under the stern eye of the law with no something starting with "s" in sight. Succour, that's the word. There was not a drop of tea or succour for Wooster anywhere in Bosher Street.

I'd been a guest here once before when I was still in the habit of pinching policemen's helmets, so it was familiar territory, but this did little to smooth the worry lines creasing my brow. True, this time I was spared the horror of facing Sir Watkyn Bassett in the harsh and unforgiving light of nine ack emma, as that blighter had retired to the country to glare at the citizenry there, but I was still pretty low. Understandable, what?

Hang on, I've muddled things up a bit. I need to go back and fill in the blanks before you start thinking I'm off my onion.

Usually when the sky begins to fill with dark looming clouds I call for Jeeves to come rallying round. Rally he always does, the result being a clear horizon and the sun shining on Bertram's smiling face. This time there would be no such rescue. Jeeves was at Totleigh Towers in the temporary employ of the aforementioned Bassett, and thus was unaware of the young master's peril.

This absence was the most feudal of acts on Jeeves's part, it being the only way he could spring me from chokey after the theft of a certain black amber statuette. (Long story. Suffice to say it featured the actions of Stiffy Byng, and thus was an incident fraught with danger to the Wooster reputation.) Jeeves had agreed to fetch and carry for le Bassett on the condition that I be returned to circulation, and was planning to stage a difference of opinion with the old blister and arrive back at Wooster GHQ before week's end. A consummation devoutly to be wish'd, as Jeeves himself said when explaining the scheme.

As it looked now, there mightn't be a GHQ for him to arrive at. I was still at something of a loss as to what was going on, but the words "indecency", "seizing of assets" and "hard labour" had been noised about, and I was copping a lot of guff from the bluebottles on duty. Putting these facts swiftly together I deduced that I was being held on one of those unmentionable soliciting gags, and I began to see how things had got out of hand.

When Jeeves is gone for more than a day or two – for instance, his annual holiday to Herne Bay, an event which, approaching, always fills me with an unnamed dread – I become as one who burns, pines and perishes. I drift about from place to place like an unmatched sock, and the situation only reverses itself upon his return to the fold. It's all right in the daytime. Jeeves always engages some Ganymede crony to provide the basics at home, and I biff off to the Drones or the races and mingle with the fellows. The b., p. and p. takes centre stage in the evenings, when I'm communing with a post-dinner snifter.

Jeeves and I generally spend these hours before bedtime in airy or glib conversation, relating the events of the day and so forth. I'm a loquacious chap, and so is he in domestic circs; rather too keen sometimes on describing the quirks and peccadilloes of his relatives, or dishing up the opinions of the poet Burns, but his conversation is otherwise fruity and instructive. The lack of this customary kidding about made Bertram droop like the clocks in that Spanish fellow's paintings. I'd started nipping out for a stroll after dinner to buck myself up a bit. It didn't work terribly well, but it was better than sitting at home being a stick.

On the night in question I told Benson not to wait up for me and hove-to at Piccadilly just as night was creeping over the landscape. It was dashed crowded, people going about between shows and restaurants and all that. Normally I would be panting to join the bustle; there's nothing I like more than a good show with a spot of grazing and sluicing afterward. But with Jeeves gone, I had misplaced my _espieglerie_ , and was inclined to mooch around feeling dispirited.

There were some other fellows standing about the place looking as down in the mouth as I felt, so at least I could blend in. I appropriated a piece of wall to prop up and lit a gasper, pining away with the best of them. A policeman out walking his beat gave me a piercing glance as he passed by, but I forbore to comment. I was on solid ground there. I hadn't so much as twitched in the direction of a policeman's helmet in months.

"Got a light, guv?"

A youngish chap stood a few feet away, holding a cigarette. Always happy to lend a hand, I whipped out my lighter and lit it for him.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." I felt like Jeeves for a moment, rendering a helpful service to a fellow in need, and moved on from pining to perishing in my nightly agenda. The honest fellow had sent me a telegram earlier in the day, promising to return to the metrop. in three days' time. At the moment it felt rather more like three years.

My fellow smoker took a step forward and sort of squinted at me in the gloom.

"Don't I know you?" he said.

"I don't know. Do you?"

"I don't know either," he said. "But you look sort of familiar."

"Ah, well, if you're from these parts you will have seen me from time to time," I said. "I'm here quite often."

"Are you, now?" the fellow murmured. "I can't say I'm surprised."

Clearly this chap could see at a glance that I was a keen patron of the performing arts. This aspect of the Wooster character shines forth, calling to like minds near and far. He was obviously a kindred spirit, perhaps new to the arena of theatrical appreciation, thus a few encouraging words seemed to be called for. I was in no mood for chitchat, but one has to be civil. It wasn't this fellow's fault that I was akin to a lamb who has lost its shepherd.

"Well, quite," I said with a knowing sort of nod. "You'll catch on soon. All the regulars get to know each other sooner or later."

"Sooner rather than later, I hope," he said, and sent a significant glance in my direction.

I couldn't make head or tail of the s. g., so I just nodded again and finished my gasper, pushing off homeward. I had some thought in mind of having a go at that Spinoza fellow Jeeves is so keen on, since the walk didn't seem to be doing me any good. I hadn't got more than a few steps when I realised the fellow was keeping pace with me, and I was about to ask where he was headed when he paused in front of a dark alley. Peering into it, I couldn't see anything of interest, but he seemed to think it worth a look, because he started down it and beckoned me onward as he went.

The Woosters possess a sixth sense when it comes to spotting tomfoolery. I had formed a question along the lines of, 'What sort of applesauce is this?' and was about to direct it to him pretty sharpish, when out of nowhere came a cry that sent a cold thrill tingling down my spine.

"Ho!"

I turned around, confusion welling up from the depths of my being, to face the bobbie who'd been eyeing me earlier.

I never know what to say when one of these hefty civil servants bears down shouting, "Ho!" at me, which happens more often than it should. Youthful indiscretions involving helmets aside, my old schoolmate Stilton Cheesewright once spent some months swanning about with the blue serge gang and never lost the knack of greeting me in this deplorable fashion. Perhaps he simply forgets to attach a friendly prefix to the thing, turning a dour "Ho!" into a suitably cheery, "What-ho!". I can't say I wish to engage him in conversation long enough to find out. He's not called Stilton for nothing, you know.

The fellow before me left me in no doubt of what he meant. He said, "Ho!" and I could tell he meant "Ho!" and all that it implied.

"Eh?" I said.

My erstwhile companion took one look at the good constable and was off like a shot, disappearing into the gloom of the alley. I would have followed his example in the other direction, except that the constable had stepped forward and was now grasping my arm in a businesslike manner.

"Knew there was somethin' off about you," he said in a censorious tone. "Fancy cove hangin' about like that. Very suspicious. Well, your game's up, sunshine. I know your kind, creepin' off into dark alleys with other young fellows. You're coming along to the station with me now, and I hope they throw the book at you!"

* * *

My first thought was naturally to yodel for help from Jeeves. When one is in an _imbroglio_ of this degree, one does not mess about with inferior schemers but goes straight for the real goods, currently being misused in Gloucestershire. I had barely touched on the notion, however, when I realised I couldn't go near him. I shuddered to think of his reaction were he to learn that I'd scarcely shaken the dust of Totleigh from my coat-tails before being hauled up before the court again. He'd probably think I was doing it on purpose to turn all his hair grey, and would retaliate by vetoing all but the soberest of dark blue ties entering my wardrobe for the next five years. Besides which, any reminder of Jeeves's connection to me would cast an ominous shadow over his own spotless character. The circs were entirely misunderstood, of course, but until I could convince the magistrate of this I couldn't risk any contact with Jeeves.

By the same logic I deduced that I couldn't send to anyone else for help either, since ill repute would rain down on the heads of those who associated with a suspected whatchamacallit. This left me in rather a sticky posish until I was served up in the dock for His Worship's amusement and derision. (I don't know where it's written that magistrates must also be comedians looking for a straight man, but I seem to be cast in that role all the time. Bally distressing when one's life and liberty is at stake, I can tell you.) There was nothing for it but to keep the upper lip stiff and maintain my stainless innocence in the whole affair until I could explain the mistake and be sent on my merry way.

The cell next to mine contained a chap who was sleeping off a touch too much of the grape, and he snored like an approaching thunderstorm. Unable to sleep, and with nothing better to do for the nonce, I mused on the mix-up I was caught in. It seemed dashed odd that I should be taken up merely for lighting that chap's cigarette and having a bit of desultory conversation. Obviously it had looked like something else from the copper's point-of-view. I knew vaguely about that sort of thing, of course, but I'd never thought about it in relation to self. I was jolly well thinking now, though. The cop had seen me and immediately thought, 'Hello, here's a nasty bit of work then!', and I wanted to know the whys and wherefores of his estimation.

I bent the Wooster brain to the task, thinking about the life of B Wooster as seen from the outside looking in: the carefree bachelor life, the string of near-misses in the field of wedded ignominy, the uncontested bliss of existence in the metrop. with Jeeves, and so on. After a while I began to comprehend certain things, mostly about my attachment to Jeeves, which had heretofore escaped my notice. I had a devil of a time sorting it all out, being deprived of all the comforts a fellow wants about him when he's in the midst of deep thought, so I was lucky I had all night to do it in, but in the end it went something like the following.

In my younger days, I was something of a man-about-town, being pretty popular with the female sex and on the lookout for a sporting member of the species to don the title of Mrs B Wooster. Since taking Jeeves to my bosom, the matrimonial fire had cooled until it was now a lump of coal doing nobody any good, least of all me. I hear the word "marriage" these days and I'm off like a shot for parts unknown. It's all down to Jeeves and the psychology of the individual, of which he is a master. His shrewd and piercing eye finds character-whatsits in girls that are detrimental to the happiness of self, flaws that I'd bypassed in favour of an outstanding profile or some other nonsense, and only his interventions have saved me from being trapped in lifelong horror and despair, unable to smoke, partake of cocktails or read anything other than Nietchze, whoever he is.

I wondered what moved Jeeves to go to such lengths, it not being usual for a valet to save one's employer from a fate worse than death. His posish on not working for married chaps probably had something to do with it in the beginning. Wives like to get rid of any outside influences over the poor saps they've married, and the gentleman's gentleman is the first to get the boot. That was all fine as far as it went – some girls don't take to him at all, usually the sergeant-majorish ones – but it didn't account for his nixing the deal with Bobbie Wickham, Pauline Stoker, or even Madeline Basset. None of those beazels would have kicked at his presence in the family home. No, something else was fuelling his efforts.

As dawn sneaked up behind the night and bludgeoned it smartly on the back of the neck, I came to the only conclusion that made any sense. Jeeves was doing his dashed best to keep me away from encroaching females who would bust up our cosy bachelor nest. I couldn't say I disagreed with the notion; in fact I went rather overboard in the affirmative stakes. Well, when a fellow as corking as Jeeves deliberately schemes to keep you unattached just so that the two of you can biff about together without any girls getting in the way, there's only one conclusion you can draw, isn't there? And I drew it pretty sharpish. We Woosters are not slow off the mark, whatever you may have heard from fellows at the Drones.

Life, as I am often heard to remark, is a dashed funny thing. In all the time he'd been with me I'd never thought before about why I was so fond of Jeeves. I mean to say, he can work miracles in any rummy situation you'd care to name, and any household under his control runs smoother than China silk, but aside from getting the talents of twenty in the person of one, I valued Jeeves more highly than just about anything. Held under a bright spotlight, our connexion gave up its secrets and stood revealed as ... well, everything I wanted in life.

The result of all this rumination was that I began to pine twice as much for him as before, in order to explore these revelations in the privacy of the flat. I chafed at my restraints and waited in, if not quite a lather, then a light froth of impatience for the morning to advance so I could get my turn before the bench.

The thickish nature of my situation weighed in again as I realised that the odds of my getting the opportunity to explore anything with Jeeves were somewhat less than even. At least nobody knew of the situation I was in; the replacement fellow, Benson, would no doubt be wondering where I was, but he wouldn't start to worry for ages yet. Plenty of time for me to get this wheeze straightened out and toddle home, provided the magistrate was a reasonable sort of chap.

Meanwhile, I was developing a thirst unlike any I'd ever known for a cup of the refreshing leaf. I'd have given a body part to get my hands on some, had anyone offered, which they didn't. I could smell it, mind you, being brewed down the hallway, but that was all. And since I'd learned that calling out only got me jeers and vulgar laughter in return, I suffered in dignified silence.

It was therefore a dejected and spiritless shadow of Bertram's usual self which sat awaiting His Worship's call. When the cry went up for my presence, I tried to present the beak with the sunniest disposish I could patch together on short notice, but it wasn't much of one. I mean to say, a full twenty-four hours without even the merest sip of oolong! I may be a man of chilled steel when the occasion calls for it, but even I am not unbreakable.

Thankfully the court was empty of non-essential personnel, which was the only bright spark in the proceedings. I knew I had to speak up smartly and explain matters to the magistrate; no doubt he'd been polishing all his best one-liners and I wanted to get in amongst him before he hit his stride.

"Ephraim Gadsby (the alias I keep on ice for these occasions), you have been charged with attempting to commit an act of gross indecency with another male person in a public thoroughfare. What is your plea?"

"Not guilty," I said in a dignified sort of way. "And furthermore—"

"Quiet!"

"I say—"

"The prisoner Gadsby will be silent, or he will be held in contempt. Which is it to be?"

Obviously he hadn't had his morning tea either. I subsided and let him roll through the rest of the formalities, which consisted mostly of him listening and tsking in a disapproving way as the rozzer referred to his notebook.

"The prisoner was observed approachin' a location in Piccadilly well-known as a trystin' place for degenerates, Yer Worship. The prisoner stationed himself against a wall and lit a cigarette, clearly watchin' the young men nearby. The prisoner was approached by one of the young men, who asked him to light his cigarette. They spoke in low voices, and the prisoner walked off with the young man followin'. They approached an alley and entered it together. At this point I detained the prisoner and arrested him while the young man escaped."

Well, of course it's suspicious if you look at it like that, what? Anyone not knowing the sort of law-abiding bird I am might draw the same hasty conclusion, and since I was pretending to be Ephraim Gadsby, I couldn't very well thump the railing and declare that the Woosters do not engage in public indecencies. I would have to rely on my powers of persuasion and charm to convince the beak that I was as pure as the driven s., if not purer, or else find myself parted from my worldly goods before the sun hit the yardarm, whatever a yardarm is.

"Has the prisoner been charged with a similar offence in the past?" the nosy fellow asked.

"No, Your Worship," said the clerk. "Previous offences include theft of police equipment, being one policeman's helmet, size seven."

The constable intervened with a "Ho!" reminiscent of our first meeting, which I thought uncalled for in the circs.

"Also," the clerk went on, "assault of a police officer and obstruction of justice, during a raid on an illegal night club. Fines were paid in each respect, Your Worship. No time served."

I thought it was a good thing they didn't know about that business in Chuffnell Regis, when Jeeves persuaded me to take the rap for Sir Roderick Glossop after he was caught supposedly breaking into my garage. I viewed the incident with equanimity now, not least because it went a long way toward repairing my relations with Jeeves at a point when we were not precisely _sympatico_ , but these birds would likely look upon it as more evidence of my slide into depravity. It must be dashed depressing to think the worst of everybody all the time.

"Disgraceful behaviour," the magistrate sniffed. "I am not altogether sure you should be allowed your freedom, Mr Gadsby, if this is how you generally behave. Your record speaks of a pattern of behaviour that should be stopped before you become a criminal of the hardest type."

I took – is it umbrage that one takes when a chap says something opprobrious about one's character? If it is, then umbrage is what I took – at this remark.

"I say, that's hardly fair," I said. "This has all been a misunderstanding, you know. If you'll just let me explain—"

"Explain? There would seem to be no reasonable explanation, unless you expect me to believe that you are so addle-brained you did not realise what sort of activity you were engaging in. I warn you, Mr Gadsby, I do not consider myself to be quite so foolish as that. I think you should be remanded in custody pending further investigation into the matter. You will be appointed a solicitor, of course."

"Now look here—" I ejaculated, but was then interrupted by what could only be an hallucination brought on by lack of tannin.

"Pardon the interruption, Your Worship, but I have new evidence in this matter that may alter your judgement. May I have your leave to present it?"

I executed a quickish half-turn toward the source of the voice and uttered a yip of pure shock. I sounded not unlike my Aunt Agatha's dog Macintosh the time he approached a female Great Dane in the park and got clouted on the nose for his trouble.

"What new evidence? Who the devil are you, and what are you doing barging into my courtroom like this?" the beak demanded.

"My name is Jeeves, Your Worship. I have with me Mr Tommy Johnson, the other young person who was apprehended with the prisoner, but who subsequently escaped. He is willing to swear to the prisoner's innocence. I should advocate a brief recess, Your Worship. I believe the prisoner is about to faint."

* * *

I didn't faint, but it was a near thing. I mean to say, when a fellow thinks he's alone in the world with a tough sentence about to fall on his head, like that Greek fellow with the sword, it's a bit of a shock to have his faithful retainer come along, produce the only person who could give reliable testimony as to Bertram's innocence, viz. the young chap with the gasper, and fix all with a wave of his hand and a bit of silver-tongue action. On the one hand I was beyond grateful, even unto half my kingdom, but on the other I was in a bit of a jam.

When Jeeves gets the bit between his teeth in the miracle department there's no stopping him, but I had wanted to keep him out of this particular spot of trouble, owing to the fact that he was already working at keeping me out of prison. Now he knew all, and I was left with some dashed twitchy nerves and guilt roiling about my insides, while Jeeves looked like his ordinary calm self. It was in this unravelled state that I returned to home sweet h. and collapsed in a heap on the sofa. Benson was gone, Jeeves presumably having banished him back from whence he came. A small blessing, but I'd take what I could get at this juncture.

"Shall I get you a drink, sir? And perhaps run a bath?"

Looking over at Jeeves, I detected a certain stiffness in his manner that meant I was clearly not out of the soup just yet. What kind of soup it was, only he knew, though I had a feeling it was of a viscous composition.

"A bath, instanter," I said, aiming for insouciance. "I may have to chisel off some of this grime, if we have a chisel handy. And then tea, Jeeves. Lots of tea. Be liberal in your application of the recipe. Several gallons ought to suffice. Your employer is bally well desperate for the stuff."

"Very good, sir," he said, and melted away into the bathroom. I contemplated the wreck that remained of a once-perfect suit and resigned myself to burning the thing. That underground-stone-cell aroma would never come out, and besides, I'd always be reminded of the misadventure when I slid into it. Still, on the bright side this gave me an opportunity to try and get one past Jeeves; my tailor had a rather spiffy-looking ensemble in dark green twill that I'd had my eye on for weeks. I had a mauve tie with green polka dots hidden away in a drawer that would set it off just right.

All this was by way of trying to forget that I had some explaining to do. Jeeves's sense of what was fitting wouldn't let him approach the subj., so it was up to me to do the square thing and fill him in. I had some burning questions of my own, come to that. Where had he found the young chap with the cigarette, and what the devil was he doing back early anyway?

However, these would have to wait till I was once again the dewy, sweet-smelling Bertram of yore, for I couldn't stand the stench of chokey any longer. I splashed about in the tub with great enthusiasm, renewing my acquaintanceship with my rubber duck and avoiding the forthcoming confrontation with Jeeves. I could feel him out there, staring daggers through the bathroom door in that well-mannered way of his, probably calling me every off-colour name under the sun while he waited. I hoped so, anyway, because that would at least mean he cared. My theory _in re_ his secret attachment to self was all very well, but you can't really know the motivations of a chap like Jeeves without asking point-blank. His hidden depths measure in fathoms and contain several tropical reefs. I'd have to take the plunge, as it were, and hope that the Wooster intuition was on the money.

"I am a man reborn, Jeeves," I said twenty minutes later, having draped sundry garments about myself and gulped down half a pot of tea. "Your ministrations have raised me from the dead. You are to be commended as always."

"Thank you, sir. "

I cocked a considering brow at his stone-like features. The time for explanations appeared to be nigh, if the unforgiving cast to his eye was any indication. I gave him the good oil with a vengeance, as a sort of sweetener to the main disclosure.

"Did I say thank you yet, Jeeves, for your timely intervention? Well, if I have, I'll say it again anyway. You are the whitest of fellows, and if I had several dozen palm fronds to hand I would even now be laying them at your feet. There was more than a little persp. dotting the Wooster brow until you appeared, but now I feel positively boomps-a-daisy."

"I am gratified to hear it, sir."

He didn't sound it. He sounded like he'd been chewing on broken glass, a thing my Aunt Agatha does for fun, which should tell you just how much ire was floating about in the atmos. at present, all of it pointed right at me. I gurgled a bit and pushed on.

"No doubt you are wondering, Jeeves, just what your employer has been up to during your sojourn in Totleigh? There you were, doing the square thing to keep me out of clink, and at the end of your labours you discover me once more enjoying His Majesty's hospitality and in need of your talents in no small measure. You must have had a few strong words to say about that, eh?"

"No, sir," said Jeeves. "It is unfortunate that you were apprehended, but one can hardly believe that you intended that to happen. If I may say so, sir, you were perhaps injudicious in using such a direct approach with the young man, but otherwise the incident may be viewed simply as the work of ill luck."

Hearing the fellow who rendered me speechless with admiration on a regular basis coming out with this sort of drivel ... well, it drove all thoughts of a suave and urbane discussion of the event clean out of my head, and made me long for possession of a certain small cosh that I knew was squirreled away somewhere in Jeeves's lair. I mean to say, where did the blighter get off thinking the worst of Wooster like this? I was in need of a large helping of sympathy, and instead I was having aspersions cast upon my character that went beyond opprobrious into bally well offensive.

"Direct approach?" I bleated, upsetting my teacup. "Ill luck? Don't talk rot, Jeeves. What bally approach? The fellow came up to me and asked for a light, we exchanged a few words about the theatre and then he tried to follow me home like a lost puppy. The next thing I know, there's a bluebottle shouting, 'Ho!' in my ear and I'm being shut up in a cell without any tea. I was the passive voice in the entire affair."

That got his attention, by Jove. Jeeves had been impersonating Lot's wife doing her pillar-of-salt gag, but now he stirred, he moved, he seemed to feel the breath of life along his keel. His eyebrow twitched a full eighth of an inch.

"Indeed, sir? I was not aware of this. The young fellow related a different version of the facts before our appearance in the courtroom. It took me no little time and an outlay of some five pounds before he would consent to amending his testimony."

I passed by the startling news that Jeeves had bribed the chap in favour of getting in amongst his assumptions of Bertram's morals. I was wounded, and I did not attempt to hide it.

"Yes, 'indeed', Jeeves. You know dashed well that I'm not the sort of lad who goes about being ... doing what I was accused of doing. I didn't even know that's what it looked like until they hauled me up in front of the beak. What's the world coming to, I ask, when a chap can't even light another chap's cigarette without being thrown in the slammer?"

"Very true, sir," said Jeeves. "Seen in the proper light, your actions were undoubtedly admirable and your arrest takes on an air of inequity that would be difficult to forgive."

By now he was like a spring thaw in full melt. I've been on the wrong side of Jeeves a time or two in my career, as is inevitable when two strong-willed men in close quarters encounter a divergence of opinion over checked plus-sixes and trips to Cuba, so his below-zero bearing was nothing new. I'd never seen him soften quite so quickly, though. I had half a mind to grab the nearest bucket in case I had to pour him into it.

"And while we're on the subject," I said, "where on earth did you find that Tommy chap anyway? He was half a mile away by the time the good constable finished his cheery greeting. And why are you here to do any finding? You're meant to be slaving under Pop Bassett's beady eye until Wednesday."

Jeeves coughed.

"As to that, sir, I found I could not entertain the idea of remaining in Sir Watkyn's service for the full week as originally planned. He wears green socks, sir." He paused here to shudder delicately, and I quaked along with him. I have been known to render a trim purple-socked limb amongst my fellows in earlier days, but green? Insupportable.

"Having tendered my resignation," he went on, "I returned to the flat, where Benson informed me that you had not come back from your evening stroll. Being unaware of your usual habits he thought nothing of it, assuming you had ... made other arrangements." He paused here to shoot me a glance of a distinctly apologetic flavour. "I immediately made inquiries at the nearby hospitals and police stations, and quite by chance I saw the name 'Ephraim Gadsby' on one of the bail hearing lists at Bosher Street."

"And here we are, eh?" I finished for him. "But you have strayed from the point, Jeeves. From whence did you dig up young Tommy whatsisname, and convince him to set foot in such a seething pit of law and order?"

It's not often you see Jeeves at a loss for words. He is, as mentioned above, apt to run at the mouth unchecked for hours if you let him, except when others are in the room. Then he likes to pretend he doesn't know how to talk off his own bat, and never says anything unless he's spoken to. Total rot, but Jeeves has rigid standards of behaviour when it comes to what is called the Quality, and he cannot be moved. Right now, though, he was more or less groping for speech, a unique sight in my experience.

"I am waiting, Jeeves. Surely you can answer a simple question without tying your tongue in a knot?"

I wasn't enjoying myself, exactly, you understand. But it was jolly refreshing to see Jeeves being the one stuttering for a change. And my heart was thumping like billy-o at the thought of what his behaviour might mean in the softer-feelings department. He wasn't miffed at the idea of having to sweet-talk me out of the brig at all, but rather what I had been doing to get myself bunged in there. What-ho, Bertram, I said to myself. This bears further investigation.

"I am ... acquainted with certain members of the community to which Tommy Johnson belongs, sir," he said. "It was fairly straightforward to determine your, er, movements on the night in question and from there locate Tommy and convince him to appear in court on your behalf." He paused to utter that cough of his again. "You are well-known by sight in the Piccadilly area, sir."

That thought made me wobble my teacup again. It's this bally fascination I carry around with me like a cloud. It's lethal to females of all sorts, but I had no idea it affected chaps as well. Was I never to be safe from random attempts at amorousness? And why didn't it work on Jeeves, dash it?

"I see. Well, no, I don't see, but I will not pry into your private affairs, Jeeves," I said with a good deal of primness. Not that I needed to pry. I could guess how Jeeves must have learned his way around, and the news rather bucked me up.

"In any case," I went on, "I am thankful you know your way around those fellows, otherwise I'd probably be looking at several months spent in striped clothing breaking up rocks with a hammer."

"That would not do at all, sir. Stripes do not become you."

"Quite."

I was by this time afire with curiosity as to his activities in the aforesaid community, but wild horses couldn't have dragged any more questions out of me. Jeeves has rigid views on what is acceptable behaviour between employer and employee, and if I crossed the line I had a feeling he'd be out the door before I could say 'Brighton Pier'. I would have to content myself with what I had unearthed during our back-and-forthing just now. Jeeves had definitely put forth the furrowed brow and narrowed eye when he thought I'd been stepping out with a what-do-you-call-em, but I thought I had detected a fairish bit of the old green eyed monster in the mix. I am on familiar terms with this beast, having seen it a time or two on the dials of various fellows to whose fiancees I have temporarily become engaged. It was the work of a moment for me to spot it in Jeeves's steely gaze. Being unable to make any sort of overture, I was more or less stuck hugging the knowledge to myself, but it was heartening to know I wasn't the only one in the Wooster residence carrying a torch. Unless Jeeves was burning up with love for Tommy Johnson, that is, which I sincerely hoped was not the case.

I had fallen into a sort of trance or reverie while musing, and came out of it with a start when Jeeves began to clear away the tea things.

"Shall I get you another pot of tea, sir?" he asked, perfectly correct, not an eyelash out of place, dash it all.

"No, thank you, Jeeves. I have had sufficient."

"Very good, sir."

He floated into the kitchen, presumably to scrub the tea-making apparatus, while I sank lower onto the sofa and brooded on the bally unfairness of this unrequited love business. It didn't seem sporting that I should have to suffer in silence to avoid bruising Jeeves's sensibilities. Then again, I didn't really want to charge in and make a sweeping declaration of undying love on the off chance that I'd got it all wrong on his side. Hence the brooding, which I was getting rather heavily into when Jeeves materialised in front of me again, uttering his gentle cough for a third time. I hoped he didn't end up with a sore throat.

"Yes, Jeeves?"

"I wish to apologise for my earlier deportment, sir," he said in a subdued sort of way. "I came to an erroneous conclusion regarding your activities last evening, and I allowed that view to colour my words. I should not have relied on the incomplete reports of others. I am sorry for assuming the worst, sir."

He didn't actually bow his head in shame and remorse, but the idea hung thick in the air about him. I may as well say it: I melted down to the bone. I was even moved to dash an unshed tear from my eye at the sight of the honest fellow brought so low.

"Oh, well, er ... don't be too hard on yourself, Jeeves," I said. "I admit the circs were rummy, after all, so it's no surprise you were taken in. I just wish I'd twigged to it so that I could have avoided the whole _debacle_. Still, nobody teaches one these things, do they? It's not like a chap's father ever takes Junior off to the side and says, 'Now mind you don't go about lighting strangers' gaspers for them in Piccadilly, son, or else you'll be taken up as a ...' – what do they call these fellows, Jeeves?"

"I believe the polite soubriquet is 'invert', sir," said Jeeves.

"Is it really? I say, that sounds awfully dry. Still, I bet the slang terms are rather less toothsome, eh?"

"Somewhat, sir, yes."

He didn't offer any examples, which told me I really didn't want to know how bad those names were. Considering my own fledgling steps in that direction, I was satisfied to let the matter rest.

"Let them remain a mystery then, Jeeves. And consider your apology akin to water under the bridge. I suspected you had a less than sterling opinion of me earlier on, but I suppose you can't be held accountable. I would've suspected myself if I hadn't been myself. If I'd been someone else, I mean, looking at myself."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He biffed off to his lair to mess about with some domestic chore or other, looking less like a stone plinth and more like the Jeeves of old. I took myself off to my room to try and restore some of the youthful glow to my skin with a well-earned forty winks, wishing as I went that Jeeves would manufacture some excuse to follow me. Perhaps there was a loose button on my waistcoat, and he would come in and demand that I remove it at once for repair, and when I took it off he would be overcome by the sight of self in a crisp white shirt, with ravishment and avowals of true love to follow.

Unfortunately, inspection in a mirror showed me without a dangling thread to be seen. I threw myself down on the bed in silent protest and, expecting to toss and turn like a heroine in one of Mrs Bingo's novels, went straight to sleep.

Waking several hours later, I felt refreshed, which depressed me rather. This business of fancying Jeeves seemed to have been building up over a longish period without my notice, because now that I had got the news it was like one of those volcanos erupting in the tropics, complete with fleeing villagers. I was absolutely brim-full of all sorts of volatile emotions and no idea what to do with them. Well, that's not true, strictly speaking. I had one or two ideas, but I couldn't very well storm into the kitchen and attack Jeeves in a fever of lust. I hadn't the gumption.

On top of everything else, I wanted more tea. My enforced deficiency seemed to have given me a bottomless thirst for the stuff.

We Woosters can wear the mask when occasion calls for it. I put on an air of congeniality and stepped into the sitting room. Daniel couldn't have been any suaver when he went into the lion's den.

Jeeves appeared with a fresh pot of tea before I'd even opened my mouth, and if I hadn't already resolved that he was the perfect match for Bertram, that act alone would have done it. I didn't wait for him to bung it on the table, but collected it from his hand on its way down. I was sorely in need of a refresher, and if I took some fleeting pleasure from the moment when our hands connected on the saucer, what of it? I had to get my kicks where I could, since society would apparently chuck bricks and other unsavoury objects at me if I did anything more overt.

Besides which, the matter of Jeeves's opinion was still undecided, and I wasn't going to put my shirt on it. I mean to say, the man could have his pick of London if he set his cap, so why would he choose B. Wooster? I am a charming and debonair chap, and svelte enough where it counts, but I'm not exactly a match for Jeeves as regards the grey matter. I had visions of him getting bored and haring off for greener pastures. It might be better to leave things _in statu quo_ , thus keeping him as friend and confidante if nothing else.

Then I happened to glance at him just after I took possession of the fragrant and steaming, and for the briefest of moments he had on his face a look that reminded me of a scribbling by one of those poet johnnies. William something or other, his name is. He wrote a drinking song that went like this:

_"Wine comes in at the mouth_  
 _And love comes in at the eye;_  
 _Tum-tumpty-tumpty-tumpty-tum_  
 _Tum-tumpty-tumpty-tumpty die."_  


Perhaps you know it. In any case, the look on Jeeves's dial was rather like that. Love coming in at the eye, I mean. I looked up, and he looked across, and there it was plastered across his face with nowhere to go but out. I could tell that he knew I'd seen it, and it was as if something inside him deflated. You've no idea how much the sight cheered me up. I felt like I'd just had three of his pick-me-ups in a row. I smiled subtly at him and raised the brew to my lips.

I downed the restorative in two swallows and set the cup on the table. Then I looked up again and met Jeeves's eye, in which wonder was dawning like ... well, like a dawn, I suppose. I'd no idea what his reasoning was for choosing me from among the multitude, but I wasn't going to question it. I'm not a total wittering idiot, after all.

"For goodness's sake, Jeeves," I said, "don't just stand there. Come here and kiss me, and let's put the seal on this thing properly."

For a second he was as stiff as a board, and I thought I'd got it wrong, or that he'd say, 'I'm afraid that is against my principles, sir,' or some such thing. Then he went sort of loose, and his mouth twitched in the minutest of smiles.

"Yes, sir," he said, and fell on my neck (and assorted other parts) with all speed.


End file.
